


Lost in Love

by earthseraph



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Almost College Grad!Bucky, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Army Veteran!Steve, Bucky Has Emotional Constipation Until He Doesn't, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Peach the German Shepherd, Pining, Roommates, This Is So Domestic And Fluffy Okay, asexual!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 11:10:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6801313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthseraph/pseuds/earthseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In all honesty, Bucky doesn’t know what to expect when he signed up to become someone’s roommate. He expected a recluse, maybe a lonely old guy that just wanted something with a heartbeat living in the empty room. But this? <em>This</em>? This is not what Bucky expected. </p><p>(Or: the one where Bucky's emotionally constipated until he's not and Steve's on a road to self discovery)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost in Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is a belated birthday present/graduation present for the amazing [Kat!](http://worthystevie.tumblr.com/) I hope you like it!
> 
> Title from [Pretty Things by Broods](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F0bOgtmdQ_M)
> 
> If you'd like to know more about asexuality please do not hesitate to [send me a message](http://pesmenos.tumblr.com/faq) or look through my [tag](http://pesmenos.tumblr.com/tagged/asexual) on asexuality.
> 
> Beta'd by [Taylor!](http://buuuuckybaaaaarnes.tumblr.com/)

**August**

In all honesty, Bucky doesn’t know what to expect when he signed up to become someone’s roommate. He expected a recluse, maybe a lonely old guy that just wanted something with a heartbeat living in the empty room. But this? _This_? This is not what Bucky expected.

X

With a grunt, Bucky hauls two boxes up the stairs to his new home. He, unfortunately, doesn’t have a key yet- seeing as he’s never met the guy he’s gonna’ be sleeping in the same house with, self preservation be damned- so with all the strength he has in his upper arms, he hikes the box up higher and knocks on the door.

A couple seconds later the door opens, and Bucky’s so fucked.

“Hey,” Steve- the guy who he’s splitting the bill of living here with- says, “you’re Bucky?”

“Yeah.” Bucky says, a little breathless and not because the boxes still in his arms are heavy but because how goddamned fine this guy looks.

Super Fucking Hot Steve notices the boxes and jumps back, “Oh, come in! Come in! I’ll help with your stuff.” And he’s gone, out the door, leaving Bucky to stare at his ridiculously pert ass and mentally curse because this is just his luck: Becoming the roommate of a stupidly hot guy who’s also nice. 

The goal this semester, hence him leaving dorm life, was supposed to be: Bucky would exit himself from hook-up culture and by doing so focus on his grades. He’s a senior majoring in history, he wants to graduate with a high GPA, have good enough grades to maybe go to grad school, get some of those chords around his neck. But nope. Here he is. Already lusting over his roommate that he hardly even knows and absolutely cannot get into bed with because they’re splitting bills and doesn’t want a month of freezing showers because Steve gets pissed at him and doesn’t pay the gas.

 _Restraint_ , he decides, still in the foyer of the brownstone staring at the cardboard flap of his box, _he will exercise restraint and will not fall into bed with ‘ol Steve here._ He nods to himself, and looks to the door when Steve comes back in, “Show me my room?”

Steve smiles, like a huge happy labrador and Bucky’s already fucking _gone_ , “Sure!”

X

It doesn’t take them long to get Bucky’s stuff up into his room. He doesn’t have much, a couple boxes, some totes, and a few bags of clothes, but no big furniture seeing as he previously dormed and Steve was nice enough to supply a bed, dresser, bookshelf and desk.

Bucky sighs and sits on the bed, he’s sweaty from going down stairs, outside to the poor Uber driver he made tow him and his luggage, and back up to his new bedroom, all in the summer heat. Sure, the brownstone's cooled with central air (thank fuck) but nothing can beat the New York heat. One step outside will make him sweat like a pig.

“Hey,” Steve says, poking his head into Bucky’s room, “want some lemonade?”

“Hell yes.” Bucky groans, pushing himself off his bed and following Steve downstairs. 

He takes a look around the brownstone as he follows Steve. It’s nice, very neat and clean, but homey. The walls are different colors, some are a pale yellow, others an eggshell blue, the ones in his room are an off white- probably painted just for a future roommate- but overall it’s welcoming. It still doesn’t feel like his home yet, he probably won’t nap on the couch until he’s been here for a month or so, but it’s not unwelcoming either. 

“I’ll give you the tour later,” Steve says, noticing him looking around, “but right now you need to hydrate before you pass out from over exertion.”

“Happened to you before?” Bucky asks, taking a seat at the kitchen island-because, yes, Steve can get even more perfect and have an island in his kitchen- watching as Steve moves from cupboard to fridge to counter.

Steve pours the lemonade and shrugs with one shoulder, “Couple times.” He slides the glass across the bar to Bucky, then pours his own.

Bucky’s eyebrows raise, “You a coach or something?” Bucky doesn’t know much about Steve, just that he’s five years Bucky’s senior and going to NYU, like Bucky. They didn’t exchange much information during the phone interview Bucky had to go through, only usual room mate stuff: _Will you pay the bills on time? Do you party? Do you smoke? What are your hours?_ but other than that, Bucky has to treat Steve as a new friend-slash-stranger. He takes a sip of his lemonade and hums quietly, it tastes better than what they serve at Chick-Fil-A, and that’s saying something.

“Uh..” Steve says, drawing the word out as he puts the pitcher back into the fridge. He takes a seat at the island, across from Bucky, glass in his hands, “No, more like a soldier.”

“Army?” Bucky asks quietly; he doesn’t want to step on Steve’s toes, but one day this is all going to have to come out. Just like one day Steve’s going to see him without a shirt and see the scars and Bucky’s going to have to talk about the car crash that took his family away. Secrets don’t stay secrets for long.

Steve nods, sipping at his drink, “Enlisted when I was eighteen, got out last year.” He shrugs a shoulder again, “No big deal.”

Bucky eyes him, he knows when someone wants to drop a subject, so he does, “If you say so- by the way,” he raises his glass, “is this homemade?”

Steve gives him a small smile, just the corner of his mouth, “Yeah, got a lemon tree growing in that tiny excuse of a backyard.”

“Only rich people actually have backyards in New York.” Bucky notes, tilting his glass in Steve’s direction, “I remember, back when I was a little kid, livin’ in Indiana and we had the hugest yard, big ol’ oak tree, little garden, everything an actual yard was meant to be.” He remembers the yard fondly, him and Becca ran around the place playing tag or hide-n-seek. Their neighbor’s dog would always somehow jump the fence and run around with them then jump back. It was nice, the yard, Indiana, no big city nonsense, but that’s in the past. That was _Then_. He shakes his head slightly, pushing himself away from the daze of the memory, and jokes: “Here, though, you gotta’ go to the park to see that much green.”

If Steve’s notices the retreat he just made to his memories he doesn’t say so, just laughs like he’s supposed to and takes a drink before setting the glass back onto the island, “Want the tour?”

Bucky downs the rest of lemonade in one swallow and sets the glass down, “Hell yes.”

X

Like Bucky thought, the house is homey and welcoming.

All the rooms are painted in soft pastels, including the three bathrooms- one in each room, and one downstairs. Each room has something hanging on the walls, whether it be art, pictures, or shelves with trinkets. In the living room there’s a couch and two arm chairs, one of the arm chairs is next to the two large windows and Bucky can tell it’s the most used seeing as there’s a butt imprint in the cushion- and Bucky does _not_ think about Steve’s pert ass sitting on that chair every day- but each seat has some assortment of throw pillow and a blanket thrown over the back.

“This place was my ma’s,” Steve says, there’s a small smile on his face as he looks around the living room, both like he’s seeing the place for the first time and also like he’s treasuring it, “then she gave it to me when I came back.”

Bucky runs his fingers across the buttery leather of the arm chair closest to him, not the one by the window, “What happened to her?” He doesn’t mean to pry, but he’s nosey by nature.

“Cancer,” Steve shrugs, “I knew it was gonna’ beat her sooner or later, so I was prepared, and so was she.”

Bucky looks up from where he’s been running his fingers across the couch, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Nah,” Steve shakes his head, face scrunched, “don’t be, I made peace with it a long time ago.”

Bucky nods, eyes back down to the couch. He wishes he could make peace with the accident that left him injured and without a family. It’s been over ten years and he still gets nightmares, he’s still afraid of driving cars, and he still swears he could have done something to prevent that day. Acceptance hasn’t come to him, and if he’s being honest with himself, he’s not sure when or if it ever will. 

“Well,” Steve says, breaking the silence, “this is your home now, so fill the empty spaces in the bookshelves, hang some pictures on the walls, make this place as comfortable as you need it to be.”

Once more, Bucky looks up and gives Steve the softest smile he can manage, “I will, thank you.”

“No problem.” Steve says with a shrug, he catches Bucky’s eye for longer than necessary before clearing his throat, “I’ll leave you to it, then.” And he’s gone.

Bucky only just came to the realization of how soft and blue Steve’s eyes are.

X

By the time Bucky’s done unpacking it’s already night and his stomach’s growling.

He stands in the doorway of his room, hands on his hips and nods to himself. It’s looking nice. He honestly didn’t have much stuff to begin with- not big stuff anyways- but a fuckton of clothes, knick knacks, and books he can’t move himself to give away. Thankfully the room is fully furnished and all he had to do was put his things where he felt they should go.

Bucky flicks the light off, pats his pockets for his phone and wallet, and goes downstairs. Sure enough, like he assumed earlier when he saw the butt indent, Steve’s sitting in the wingback chair by the window but- something that Bucky didn’t assume- with a sketchpad in his hands. 

“Hey.” Bucky says, hovering in the archway between the living room and the foyer, he’s not sure if he’s intruding on Steve’s drawing or not.

Steve looks up from his pad and smiles, “What’s up?”

Bucky shrugs his shoulders, “Nothing, just wondering if you wanna’ go grab some pizza and beer, I know this place not too far from here.” Bucky didn’t really ‘know this place’, no, but he has looked it up. He made sure to scope out all the dives and clubs closest to Steve’s place so he wouldn’t have to get in a moving vehicle unless absolutely necessary. He watches as Steve hesitates and adds: “It’s on me.”

“You make a compelling argument.” Steve points out, before scooting off his chair, “let me put shoes on and we can go?”

Bucky nods and plops himself down on the leather armchair, “I’ll be here.”

X

They’re both quiet as they walk to the pizzeria, Bucky’s taking in the neighborhood and Steve’s keeping to himself. Usually, Bucky would keep some sort of conversation flowing but he doesn’t mind the silence. It’s not awkward, there’s no heavy feeling in the air, it’s just them, and it’s odd. Even with Bucky’s closest friend Natasha he’d be chatty, talking about anything and everything. But for some reason he feels like he doesn’t have to. It’s them and the city noises, nothing more, nothing less, and Bucky doesn’t know how to feel about it.

He holds the door to the pizzeria open for Steve, getting a small smile in response, and follows in after him.

“Please, seat yourselves!” A tall, very built, blonde man says, obviously not Italian from his accent, and they do in a corner booth with Steve against the wall.

The man comes over and gives them two menus, he pulls out a little notepad from his apron pocket and gives them a dazzling smile, “What can I get you humans to drink?”

Bucky makes himself believe that this man called them ‘humans’ to be gender neutral and with the times and not because they’re obviously lesser beings than him- the guy’s taller than Steve and probably has a lot more muscle, but Bucky wouldn’t take this guy to bed, nah. He looks down at the drinks section of the menu before looking up at Godly Waiter, “Whatever beer you recommend.”

“We only have the finest beer here, I can assure you.” He says with a nod before turning to Steve, “And you?”

“Same as him.” Steve says with an uncomfortable smile on his face. 

Godly Waiter nods once more, his long hair flowing like this is a shampoo commercial, “I will come back with your finely brewed beers, please take your time searching for the best pizza!” He booms, then with another dazzling smile he’s gone.

“So, how did you find this place?” Steve asks, looking down at his menu.

Bucky shrugs, “Just did, I think I’m gonna’ get the supreme, you?”

Steve hums before putting down his menu, “I’m going for the meat-lovers, want to split a large with each of our toppings?”

Bucky looks at the diameter of the pizza on the menu and nods, “Sure.”

X

The beer is the right kind of cold, the pizza is the right kind of hot and greasy, and this has to be the best night Bucky’s had in awhile.

They talk about everything and nothing over the beer and pizza.

Bucky learns that this is going to be Steve’s first year and he’s going into a dual degree plan of art and nursing (“I just like helping people,” Steve says, drawing shapes into the condensation on his glass, “if I can’t be overseas then I want to help as much as I can here.”

“And you wouldn’t consider being a cop or firefighter?” Bucky asks, taking a drink of his beer as he watches Steve.

Steve makes a face, “I think I’ve been shot at enough for one lifetime and I’m not a fan of fire.”

Bucky makes an agreeing motion with his shoulders, “What about being an all out doctor?”

Steve frowns at the crust he left on his plate because he’s a heathen that doesn’t like pizza crusts but they’re not at that point in friendship where Bucky can just eat them off his plate, “I don’t think I’m cutout for that, nor do I have a god complex so..” He trails off and shrugs.

“Well,” Bucky says tipping his glass of beer in Steve’s direction, “I think you’d make a great nurse.”

Steve blushes, “Thank you.”). He learns that Steve’s always wanted a dog (“Either a dachshund or a bulldog if I was buying from a breeder.” Steve says, there’s a soft smile on his face when he says the dog breeds, like he’s already imagining having them.

It’s cute.

“English or French?” Bucky asks, pulling at a napkin to do something with his hands so he won’t pull Steve across the table to see if his kiss is as soft as the look on his face.

“English, of course, Frenchies look too pretentious for me, and I like the laziness of a bulldog.”

Bucky snorts, “I don’t think those dogs fetch.”

“They’d probably just look at me like I was crazy.” Steve agrees, pushing his plate away from him.

The pizza’s long gone and they’re both on their second beer, but the atmosphere of the pizzeria- loud from the music and other patrons talking, the smell of bread and cheese in the air, the dim lighting- it draws both of them in. Bucky doesn’t want to leave.

“And for the dachshund?”

“What about it?”

Bucky leans back in his booth, “Long or short haired?”

“Long,” Steve nods, “definitely long.”) And he learned that Steve’s best friend was Air Force (“Isn’t it like taboo for army men to be friends with people who aren’t army?” Bucky asks, drinking the fresh glass of water he ordered, he has work tomorrow and even a little buzz makes him feel hungover the next day, “Because that’s what movies told me.”

Steve chuckles and shakes his head, his eyes are a little glassy from the beer and there’s a slight flush across his cheeks, “Yeah, there’s friendly competition but in the end we’re all fighting for the same cause, we’re all brothers and sisters in arms.”

“So there’s no like..” Bucky searches the air for words before finding some, “if you go into a Marines bar in your Army uniform they’ll beat you up sorta deal?”

Steve shrugs and shifts in the booth so an arm is over the back, “There’ll be some jabbing yeah, but physical violence?” He shakes his head, “Not much.”

“So, how’d you meet this _Sam_?” Bucky leans forward, elbows on the table, “What’s the story there?”

“Not much of a story, he and I went to the same VA and hit it off, is all.”

Bucky wants to ask if he has PTSD, if there’s anything Bucky should or shouldn’t do that could trigger him, but he doesn’t. They’re not close yet, they don’t know each other that well, and talking over pizza and beer isn’t going to change that. They need time together before they can talk about anything this heavy. Bucky knows he has his own sort of PTSD, but he’s not going to come out and say it. He’s not going to admit it because that makes it true, so he ignores the ‘VA’ part of Steve’s answer and asks: “He live here?”

Steve shakes his head, “He lives in DC, we visit each other from time to time seeing as it’s only a train ride away.”

“That’s good, keeping the friendship alive and all that.” Bucky’s shit at keeping friendships alive if the other person doesn’t keep in contact with him, it’s his flaw.)

By the time they leave the pizzeria and get back home (the walk was quite, nice, in the humid air of New York at night. Both of them walking a littler closer, a little tipsier than before.) it’s hitting midnight. 

“That was fun.” Steve says, hanging up his tan bomber because he’s the only person on earth that would be wearing leather in a New York summer.

Bucky’s half way up the stairs to his room, ready to shower and sleep before waking up early to head to work but he stops and looks down at Steve, there’s a soft smile on his face, softer than he’d like, if he’s being honest, “Yeah, we should do it again.”

Steve looks up at him, soft smile on his lips too, “We should.”

X

By the time Bucky gets to work he’s sticky from sweat and a little breathless after having to run across a packed street. He’s a couple minutes early to opening, which is the only upside to waking up at ass’o’clock in the morning so he can walk-slash-take the subway.

The commute from his new home isn’t bad, not as easy as running across the street from NYU, but the subway isn’t as hard to ride as a taxi would be, so he’s fine. When he got up this morning Steve was still sleeping, his door slightly cracked, snoring audible. He tried to make as little noise as possible, thanking whatever made him shower last night instead of crashing like he wanted to. He’d tried to stay silent as he made himself coffee and some instant oatmeal he found, placing a sticky note on the fridge telling Steve where he went and that he forgot to get his key last night before leaving to work.

He unlocks the door to the cafe, propping it open with a brick and pulling out the _Today’s Special_ sign whoever worked the last shift wrote out, and pauses when he sees a red-head behind the counter.

“Natasha.” He says, unsure as to why she’s here. Sure, she works here time to time seeing as her boyfriend owns the place, but she’s never here before she needs to be. And this- not even eight in the morning- is way before she needs to be.

She looks up from the magazine she’s flipping through, “James.”

He nods to her before going around the counter and into the back room, ditching the messenger back he’s come to wear in his cubby and putting on a black apron over his clothes. When he walks out she’s still behind the counter, “What brings you here this early?”

She flips a page, not looking at him as he pulls grounds down, “Nothing much.”

He hums, not convinced at all, and leaves to the backroom to pull out pastries for the glass case. With gloves on his hands, he places each pastry in it’s designated spot. 

“So how’s your new roommate?” She asks, finally getting to the point.

He sighs, holding a scone in his hand, “He’s fucking hot, is what he is.”

Natasha snorts, “Really, now?”

He looks over at her, slightly leaning on the glass case, “Blonde, blue eyes, and muscular.”

“Tall?”

“He’s gotta’ be like six two.”

“Ass?”

“So tight I could bounce a penny off it.”

She leans back in her seat, magazine closed on the counter, “Don’t fuck your roommate, James.”

He puts the scone in it’s place and pulls himself away from the case, taking his gloves off, “I know.”

She eyes him before getting up from the chair she pulled around to the counter, “I will allow you to fall for him, though.”

“Natasha.” He says, cutting her off with a groan before she does the same to him.

“No fucking,” She says, picking up the chair she was sitting in to take it back to the table it came from, “only falling is acceptable. Got it?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, not answering her until she walks out the cafe door, obviously only here to hear about his new roommate since she was the one to show him the listing. He pulls out a cloth from under the counter and wipes the space down, ignoring the fact that it’s as clean as it’s going to be before the morning rush. He thinks about her words and snorts, he’s not capable of falling in love- or, he is, but he won’t ever tell Natasha that. He’s not about to get burned over some emotions, and he’s not about to deal with those emotions either. Sex? Sex he’s fine with because it can stay as nothing. But love? He shakes his head and sticks the cloth in his pocket.

Love is not an emotion Bucky wants to feel again. Not when it’s fleeting, not when it can be taken away split second in a freak accident. Love isn’t something he can do.

Like Natasha once said before she became soft: Love is for children.

X

“You got your classes already?” They’re in the living room, Bucky’s laying across the couch with a book and Steve’s sitting in his arm chair with his iPad. This sort of thing became normal, sitting in the same room together, speaking or not, doing the same things or not. It’s nice.

Steve looks up from his tablet, “Yeah, I’m a little nervous for tomorrow, though.”

Bucky dog-ears his place and puts the book down to give Steve his full attention, “How come?”

Steve shrugs, pressing his thumbs into the edges of his tablet, “I haven’t been to school since I was eighteen, and now I’m twenty seven and going back?” He shakes his head, “It’s weird is all.”

“I think you’ll do fine.” Bucky says honestly. He’s been living here for three weeks already and in those three weeks he’s gotten to know Steve. Not just the stuff on the outside- like he’s athletic as fuck, he prefers second hand clothes to spending thirty dollars on a shirt which is why he dresses like a grandpa at times, and has a smile that makes Bucky’s heart melt- but the stuff on the inside too. Steve’s genuinely a good person, he helps old ladies with their groceries, and sometimes takes food to the homeless guy they see outside the grocery store. He’s nice to everyone, even people who don’t have the same ideologies as him, but will rough up a guy who acts like an asshole (as seen at the pizza place- owned by the Goldy Waiter who’s name is apparently Thor- when a guy decided feeling up a girl he didn’t know was a good idea). He’s learned that Steve likes to cook new foods and prefers to make everything homemade than from a box. He’s learned that Steve isn’t the image of perfection, he forgets to put his shoes away, doesn’t take out the trash, and has his own inner demons, but he’s still Steve and he’s still a good person. Over these three weeks he thinks he can call Steve his friend, maybe even best friend seeing as they make sure to not miss a Pizza Friday and sometimes stay up late and have too many existential crises together. So, he knows Steve will do good at university, even if Steve doesn’t think it.

“Really?” Steve asks, a small smile on his face, eyes hopeful.

“Yeah,” Bucky says with a small, soft smile of his own, “really.”

They’re quiet for a moment, both of them still looking at each other with small smiles on their faces until Steve clears his throat and asks: “How are you getting to class tomorrow?”

“Subway.” Bucky shrugs, he’s not about to take a taxi or Uber, even if he could he wouldn’t want to pay that price, and riding a bike would kill him in this heat.

Steve nods, looking down at his lap, “Do you want a ride?”

Bucky frowns, he doesn’t know one idiot in New York that owns a car, “Ride?”

“Yeah, I have a motorcycle, and there’s a spare helmet and jacket laying in my closet if you want to hop on?”

While Bucky would honestly die to get that close to Steve on any given day- chest to back, hands around his waist- but cars and motorcycles.. They’re not his friend. He hasn’t told Steve about the accident, and Steve hasn’t seen him without a shirt or in a wife beater, so he hasn’t seen the aftermath of the scar. He really has no reason- that Steve knows of- to not take the ride, and he doesn’t want to turn into a crying puddle on the couch the day before school, so he just shrugs and says: “I’m kinda’ afraid of motorcycles, no walls around me, ya’ know?” It’s not far from the truth, nor is it an actual lie because he is afraid, but he still feels wrong for not telling Steve the actual reason. Steve’s been honest with him since day one, about anything Bucky wanted to know about him or the house, and here he is, basically lying.

“Oh,” Steve says, stunned, like he forgot it’s possible to not be motorcycle friendly, “I can pay for a cab if you want? Easier than the subway?”

Bucky shakes his head, clenching his jaw at the thought of getting in a car again, the last time he told himself was with the Uber that dropped him off here, “No, thanks, I’m fine with the subway, really.”

Steve must notice his discomfort because he just nods and drops the topic before getting up and muttering something about making dinner.

Bucky sighs heavily when Steve leaves the living room and closes his eyes. He feels like he should have just told the truth, he feels like he screwed up.

X

“How was your first day?” Bucky’s laying across the couch, it’s almost four but he’s been home since noon. Being a senior has it’s perks, and those perks include only needing to attend four classes, two of which he had today.

Steve sighs and goes to his arm chair, plopping himself down on the seat, head tipped back and eyes closed, “It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Bucky asks, eyebrow raised.

Steve opens his eyes and stares at the molding, he’s pouting and Bucky can’t help but find it cute, “Yeah, I just feel so old, ya’ know? Everyone around me is in their teens still and I’m here almost thirty.”

“But you did something in that time, Steve.” Bucky leans up on one elbow, he wants to stand in front of Steve and tell him how great he is, how age doesn’t matter, but he settles for leaning up on the couch instead, “That’s the difference between you and them. You’re probably decorated as hell and they’re snotty, I-think-i’m-great-because-i’m-going-to-NYU brats.”

Steve turns his head to look at him, “I don’t tell people this but I do have a Purple Heart.”

Could Steve get any more perfect? “See,” Bucky says with a nod, “you got more on your resume than they could ever hope to have. Ignore them and just have fun, God knows you worked hard to get that GI bill.”

Steve turns back to look at the molding but smiles and softly says, “Thanks, Buck.”

Bucky feels his heart flutter at the nickname but ignores it. “You make any friends?”

“I did,” Steve admits, sounding surprised, “actually. One of them’s named _America_.”

Bucky snorts, “It’s fitting that you’d become friends with someone named America.”

“She’s a real nice girl.” Steve says, ignoring Bucky, “I also met a pair of twins named Wanda and Pietro.”

“You and the weird named friends.” Bucky mutters, lowering himself back against the couch.

“Look who’s talking.” Steve says with a snort, “You call yourself _Bucky_.”

Bucky grins, “So?”

“Like that ain’t a weird nickname, you’re lumped right in with the rest of my weird named friends.”

Bucky feels his heart melt a little, “Yeah?” His voice is much softer, much more raw than he’d like it to be but he wants to hear Steve call him his friend out loud. And Steve? Steve does exactly that.

“Yeah, Buck, you’re my first weird named friend.”

Bucky pushes himself back into the cushions, his smile’s hurting his mouth, “Well then you’ll be the leader of my friends with basic as fuck names.”

“Steve Rogers is a pretty plain name.” Steve agrees.

Bucky nods, “That it is.”

A moment passes before Steve speaks, “I know it’s only Monday but do you wanna’ get some pizza and beer to celebrate surviving the first day of the semester?”

Bucky hums like he really has to think about before pushing himself up from the couch, “Pizza on me.”

“Then I got the beer.” Steve says, getting up from his own couch.

Bucky grins, “Sounds like a deal.”

X

**September**

Steve looks guilty. Not _I forgot to take out the trash this morning and it already passed_ or _I ran out of shampoo so I stole yours without putting it back in your bathroom_ guilty but like _I killed your favorite plant and broke the pot it was in_ guilty- which has happened before. 

He’s standing in the foyer when Bucky comes home from work. It’s Saturday and Bucky had to run the late shift and close up the cafe so he’s not surprised to see Steve waiting for him, but he’s usually waiting for him with dinner in the dining room. Not standing around looking guilty as hell, staring at his shoes intently with his hands behind his back like Bucky’s going to grab a ruler and slap his knuckles.

“Steve.” Bucky says in greeting, throwing his keys in the bowl by the door and pulling his messenger onto one shoulder instead of across his body.

“Buck.” Steve says in return, not looking up from his shoes.

Bucky’s eyes dart around the foyer, trying to figure out what Steve did to get this look on his face but ultimately failing. He slowly puts his bag down by the table holding up the bowl, like Steve’s a skittish animal and he’s trying not to scare him, “What’s up, Steve?”

Steve shifts, his eyes meeting Bucky’s for a second before dropping to the floor, “I uh-” he licks his lips and normally Bucky would find that attractive but this time he’s just concerned, “-I might have taken in a stray?” He says it like a question and Bucky frowns.

“Stray?”

“Um-” Steve looks behind himself, into the living room before letting out an ear piercing whistle.

Bucky hears the dog before he sees it. It’s claws excitedly run across the wooden floors until a very shaggy, very skinny German Shepherd is crashing into the back of Steve’s legs. It’s wagging it’s tail so hard it’s whole body moves with it, it’s tongue is hanging out of the side of it’s mouth, and it’s ears are straight up on it’s head, like it’s ready to listen to any command Steve gives it. Over all, the dog’s pretty cute, but Bucky’s a dog person so _any_ dog is cute.

Steve kneels down on one knee to pet the dog, bringing it into a hug while he speaks, two sets of puppy eyes looking up at Bucky, “I was on a run when I found her, she was laying in the park dehydrated from the heat. I looked around to see if she was anyone's but,” he shrugs his shoulders, breaking eye contact with Bucky to look down at the dog, “she wasn’t. A lady told me she’s been hanging around the park for months now.” He looks back up at Bucky, hands still petting the dog, but there’s a dopey smile on his face, “She liked me from the moment I shared my water with her, so I did the only thing logical and took her to get her shots and brought her home.”

Bucky lowers himself to the ground and clicks his tongue to call the dog, she immediately extracts herself from Steve’s hold to bound herself over to him. Curiously, she sniffs him, before deciding he’s just as good as Steve and plops herself down between his legs. He cards his fingers through her hair, slightly surprised at how soft her coat is before looking up at Steve, “What’s her name?”

Steve settles himself down on the floor, legs splayed out in front of him, “She didn’t come to anything in particular, so I settled with Peach.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, a smile stretching across his lips, “Peach?”

“It’s fitting and you know it.”

Bucky looks down at Peach and cups her big head between his hands, “Are you a peach, Peach?”

Peach just lolls her tongue out of her mouth in response, panting dog breath into Bucky’s face and Bucky can’t help but grin and kiss her forehead. He’s already gone on this dog.

“So, you’re not mad?” Steve asks hesitantly.

“Nah.” Bucky shakes his head, scratching behind Peach’s ears, “I fucking love dogs.”

Steve’s smile is wide and blazing, “Good, because she doesn’t have a bed yet so she’s going to have to switch between sleeping on yours and mine.”

Bucky just pulls Peach closer to his chest, petting her stomach vigorously and ignoring the voice in his head that sounds like Cesar Millan from _Cesar 911_ telling him that petting a dog’s stomach makes them think they’re in control, “I can deal with those terms.”

(They end up fighting over who gets to sleep with Peach that night and settle for the three of them sleeping in the living room. Bucky on his couch, Steve on his armchair with a ottoman for his feat, and Peach between them and the coffee table on a spare blanket Steve pulled out. It’s so domestic, so nice, Bucky could almost pretend he and Steve were dating, but he doesn’t and he pushes that thought out of his mind as quickly as it comes. Repeating to himself: Love is for children.)

X

Bucky’s laying on the couch, bored as hell on a Friday night. He’s not sure where Steve is, in all honesty, and decides to call him. The line rings three time before he answers.

“Hey, Steve.” Bucky greets, staring at the spinning fan above him.

“Hey, Buck, what’s up?” There’s noise in the background of Steve, almost drowning out his voice, making Bucky raise the volume on his phone.

“Nothing much.” he pauses, there’s butterflies in his stomach. Ever since that night he, Steve, and Peach slept together in the living room those butterflies hardly leave. They make him feel like a teenager again, they go against his mantra of _love is for children_ , they make him want to rethink his whole outlook on his Lust Not Love life, and they’re all because of Steve. Steve makes him giddy and happy. Steve makes him a better person, if he’s being honest, and he thinks that maybe he could learn to love Steve. If Steve lets him, that is. He clears his throat, going back to his conversation with Steve, “We on for pizza at Thor’s tonight?”

Steve hesitates, “I, uh, kind of made plans already.”

“Oh.” Bucky says, ignoring the drop in his stomach that chases away the giddiness and butterflies.

“Yeah, with America and Kate, remember them?”

Bucky remembers them, alright. He remembers being behind the counter at work when America, Kate, twins with the weird names, and Steve came in. He remembers Steve giving him a small smile, not introducing him to his new friends, making Bucky seem like he was nothing more than their cashier. Bucky remembers trading shift detail with Wade, deciding he’d rather wash dishes than deal with the hurt in his heart. He remembers pushing that moment out of his mind because that was Steve and Steve would never intentionally hurt him. So, yeah, he remembers them. Bucky just hums in affirmation, hoping Steve can hear him over the noise.

He can hear someone call Steve’s name before Steve says: “I gotta’ go, Buck.” And the line cuts.

Bucky lets his phone drop to his stomach and stares at the fan. He looks down to the end of the couch where Peach is laying over his feet, “Love is for children.” He sighs, ignoring the hurt in his heart because he has no hold over what Steve does. He has no reason to feel like he was let down when their pizza nights were nothing official, just something they did together. He ignores it all and decides to call for Chinese instead.

He makes sure he’s in his room with Peach when Steve gets home and, like before, ignores his want to go downstairs and ask Steve how his day went.

X

**October**

Bucky wakes up to the feeling of Peach licking his face and the sound of someone screaming. For a moment he wants to close his eyes and go back to sleep but the insistence of Peach’s licking and the sound of screaming all too close to his room makes him snap his eyes open and sit up on his bed. He realizes the moment Peach jumps off his bed and noses his door open that it’s Steve screaming.

Quickly he jumps off his bed and goes across the hall to Steve’s room. Like his own door, Steve’s is cracked open for Peach, so he quietly opens it. In the light of the moon and street lights he can see Steve thrashing and whimpering on his bed, his face twisted in pain, his skin sweaty. 

Bucky doesn’t know what to do. He knows he needs to wake Steve up, but this hasn’t happened before. Sure, he gets his own share of nightmares but he doesn’t scream or cry and they’re not known. He doesn’t know how to deal with this. Peach, ever the helpful dog, nudges the back of his knee with her nose, telling him to get the move on without actually speaking to him. 

He moves to the bed, doesn’t touch Steve, but sits at the edge and says: “Steve, Steve it’s Bucky.” Steve, as if hearing his voice, whimpers, but his eyes don’t open and he doesn’t wake up. Carefully, Bucky places a hand on Steve’s clammy arm, gently shaking him, “Steve, hey, wake up for me.”

The gentle shaking must do it because after another shake of his arm Steve wakes with a gasp, snapping up to a sitting position, his eyes darting around the room until they land on Bucky.

“Bucky.” He says, sounding relieved, sounding like Bucky’s the best thing he could see right now and Bucky pushes that to the side.

“Hey,” Bucky keeps his hand on Steve’s arm, “you doing okay?”

Steve rubs at his eyes with the hand Bucky’s not touching and sighs roughly, “I always get them bad this time of year.” Steve admits, hand still covering his eyes.

“Any particular reason?” Bucky asks quietly, rubbing his thumb in circular motions on Steve’s arms, looking at the end of the bed when Peach jumps on.

Steve shakes his head, “Just happens, even when I was back overseas.”

Bucky nods, keeping his hand on Steve’s arm. He hasn’t been this close to Steve in a long time. They haven’t gone out for pizza since the beginning of September, Steve’s been skittish around him, and Bucky doesn’t know what he did wrong. He feels bad that he’s soaking in Steve while he’s in this delicate state, but he’ll stay in this close in presence of Steve for as long as he can. As long as Steve will let him.

“Does anything help?” Bucky asks.

“This.” Steve whispers, eyes still covered.

“Okay.” Bucky says, he shifts so he’s more comfortable on the bed, “Then I’ll be here for as long as you need me.”

He stays until the sun’s creeping through the blinds, until Steve’s asleep under the covers with Peach curled up at his side. He presses a soft kiss to Steve’s forehead and scratches behind Peach’s ears before leaving to his room. He needs to be up in a couple hours for work but staying the night with Steve, both of them talking about everything that’s happened over the past few weeks until Steve’s heart stopped beating too quickly, until he could close his eyes without seeing blood and sand, until Steve was asleep and Bucky’s heart surrendered itself to Steve.

He thinks, as he lays in his own bed under the covers, that things will go back to normal. That Steve won’t be skittish, that Steve will go with him to eat pizza and drink beer again. 

He thinks and he hopes.

X

As usual, Bucky’s _so_ wrong.

After that night of talking, of being who they used to be, Steve isn’t just skittish, he full out avoids him. If Bucky goes in the same room, Steve leaves it. If Bucky calls him and asks what he wants for dinner, he says he’’s eating out. If Bucky so much as walks through the same hallway as Steve, Steve runs the fuck out of it.

Bucky doesn’t know what he did. He pays the bills on time, he takes the trash out when it’s his turn, he doesn’t leave a mess and cleans up after Peach if she leaves one. He’s not sure if he should confront Steve- if he can get the man in the same room as him, that is- or if he should start looking for a new place to be someone’s roommate with. He doesn’t want to leave, though. He wants to fix things with Steve, he wants to keep cuddling with Peach, he wants to stay in the place his calls home.

But right now, home alone again on a Friday- the last Friday of the month, to be exact- he just wants to be petty.

Bucky pulls his phone out of his pocket and calls Natasha, “Nat,” He says in greeting, “get your boyfriend dressed, we’re going out.”

“Are we now?” She says, grin obvious over the line.

“Yeah, I wanna’ get drunk and maybe get fucked. I’ll be at your place in a cab in an hour.” He’ll suck up his fear of being in a car if it means he gets to go to a club with good music and good looking men. If it means he can ignore the feelings he’s acknowledging he has for Steve for one night.

“Cab fare on you?”

He sighs, “Yes.”

“Deal.” She hangs up and he pushes himself off the couch to get dresses in his tightest pants and thinnest shirt. October chill be damned. 

He looks down at Peach when he gets off the couch, ruffling her fur, “I’m going out, you be a good girl while I’m gone.”

Peach huffs and lays her head on her paws. Even she knows what he’s doing- ignoring his problems, probably hurting himself in the process- is stupid.

Bucky just pets her once more, checks her food and water bowl, before heading up to get dressed.

Emotions and weather be damned.

X

They’ve been at the club for an hour and Bucky’s drunk as hell. He’s a lightweight as it is, so going straight for the tequila wasn’t a good decision on his part, but he wants to get drunk. He wants to forget about Steve. He wants to pretend he’s not in love with his roommate and fuck someone for the first time in months.

“No,” Natasha says, keeping a hold on him by his shirt, “I know you’re an adult and can make your own decisions but being the sober one here, I’m telling you that you cannot go for a one night stand. Not as shitfaced as you are right now.”

Bucky pouts but stays put in his seat, “Why?”

“Because up until thirty seconds ago you were basically crying over how great Steve is and how much you love him.” She says with an eyeroll, “If I knew I just had to get you drunk to actually talk to me about him I would have done it a long time ago.”

“So no night stands?” He asks, his words slightly slurred.

“None. Dance, drink some more, but I’m not letting you go home with anyone.”

Bucky sighs; he knows she’s right, but he just wants to forget, and he tells her just that.

Natasha gives him a look of sympathy, “That’s not how emotions work, James, no matter who you fuck, or how many you fuck, you’re still going to want Steve.”

“And he doesn’t want me. ‘S the problem, Nat.” He pushes at an empty shot glass, “He doesn’t want me.”

“You know that for sure?” Clint asks, coming back from the bar with a glass of water. Even Bucky knows that glass isn’t going to help him with the amount of alcohol he drank but he takes it anyway.

“I know that he doesn’t want to be in the same room as me.” Bucky says, tipping the glass in Clint’s direction, some sloshing over the rim onto his shirt. He frowns at the water like it personally offended him, and in a way, it did.

“That don’t mean shit.” Clit says.

Bucky glares at him, “Just let me get drunk in peace.” He pulls one of the full shot glasses to himself and throws it back, his face twisting up at the flavor. He doesn’t know why he drinks tequila if he hates it so much.

Clint raises his hands up, “Whatever you say.”

X

Bucky can’t get the key in the lock. He’s been on the porch for what feels like an hour, stabbing the lock uselessly with his key without ever making it in. He even used two hands for a moment, trying to see if that would stabilize him. It didn’t. He sighs roughly, wishing he took Clint’s offer of walking him to the porch seeing as Clint only had two drinks and Bucky had a fuckton (Natasha refused to get out of the cab in this weather). He wants to knock on the door, but it’s closer to sunrise than it was sunset and he doesn’t want to wake Steve up. So, he keeps trying.

By some grace of God, Bucky gets the key in the door and unlocks it. He stumbles inside the foyer, tripping over his own feet, dropping his keys. He curses, bending down to get them before turning back around to lock the door. Apparently he was being too loud, moments ago, because suddenly the foyer’s bright and when he turns around Steve’s standing on the first step of the staircase, hand on the light switches, obviously asleep moments ago.

“Buck?” Steve asks, eyes squinted from sleep and the light. He leaves the first step to stand in front of Bucky, “Are you drunk?”

Bucky snorts, “I think that’s an understatement.” He may be shitfaced, but he can still formulate proper sentences. It’s a skill he covets.

Steve finishes locking the door for him before pushing him to the kitchen with a hand on his back, “Let’s get some water in you.”

Bucky sits at the island while Steve gets a glass and fills it with water, putting it in front of Bucky when he’s done and taking the seat at the end. It’s like the first day they met all over again. Bucky clumsily takes the glass and drinks water, frowning at Steve, “Why’re you so perfect?”

“What?” Steve asks, stunned.

“Why’re you so perfect? You’re nice, you save dogs, you went to war even when you didn’t have to, you even have a perfect face and body.” Bucky’s verbal filter’s gone, absolutely gone with his sobriety. Maybe Drunk Bucky will get things done that Sober Bucky couldn’t.

Steve blushes, “Uh, I don’t know?”

The frown stays on his face, he thinks about Steve’s perfection and his own imperfections, “You know you’re not the only one in this house that gets nightmares?”

Steve frowns, “I’m not?”

Bucky shakes his head, “Nope.” He pops the ‘p’, “I get ‘em, too, they aren’t fun.”

“Buck-”

Bucky cuts him off, ”My parents are dead, ya’ know? Sister too. Car crash, it’s what causes the nightmares.”

“Bucky, I don’t think you should be telling me these things.” Steve says quietly, there’s pain on his face, Bucky can’t place it in his current state of mind.

“Why? They’re all true. I got a big ol’ scar on my arm to show it. It add to my imperfection.”

“Bucky,” even his voice sounds pained, “you’re not imperfect.”

Bucky snorts, “Yeah, sure.”

“You’re not.” Steve insists, “Not to me.”

Bucky flinches. He can’t hear these things from Steve, not when they’re not true. Not when Steve’s only saying it out of pity. He shakes his head and looks up at Steve, “Then why do you avoid me like the fucking plague? Huh, Steve?” he shouts, ignoring Steve’s own flich. 

“You’re drunk, Buck.” Steve replies, not looking at him in the eyes, “We’ll have this conversation when you’re sober.” He gets up from his stool, rounding the island to Bucky’s side, pulling him off his own stool and pulling his arm over his shoulder, “Now, let’s get you to bed.”

Bucky lets himself be taken to his room. He feels bad for yelling at Steve and he feels stupid for spewing his secrets while drunk. He knows they’re going to have to revisit this conversation, but he mostly feels bad for making Steve feel bad.

When Steve gets him to his bed Bucky wraps his hand around Steve’s wrist, “I do miss you,” he looks up, “it’s been a long time since we’ve hung out.”

Steve sighs and smooths his hair back with his free hand, “Go to sleep, Buck.” He pulls his hand away and leaves the room.

Bucky sits at the headboard of his bed and pulls a pillow to his chest, he leans his head back and sighs. Emotions are stupid and complicated.

X

Another thing Bucky covets about his drunkenness, is that he remembers everything the next morning.

After puking his guts out and showering the stench of alcohol and club off his body, he goes down stairs. He’s slightly nervous to see Steve, but he does need to talk to him. He needs to make sure Steve knows the difference between the things he meant last night and the things he didn’t.

Bucky finds Steve sitting in his armchair, drawing, Peach at his feet. She picks her head up when he comes in the living room, joining him on the couch when he sits at the end farthest from Steve.

“I was twelve when it happened.” He says, no greeting, nothing, “We were visiting my grandma in the Bronx, it was snowing harder than it ever did in Indiana and we couldn’t see.” He stares at the coffee table as he talks, not looking over to Steve, not looking over to Peach when she settles her head in his lap, “Some guy swerved, hitting us, making our car flip, I was sitting in the back but it was my sister’s side that got hit.” He swallows back the lump in his throat and keeps talking, “My dad and sister died on impact, mom died on the way to the hospital, and I was in the hospital for months, trying to get motion back into my arm.” He looks down at his left hand, flexing his fingers. “I can’t even get into cars anymore, the snow freaks me out, and I have a nightmare almost every week about the crash.” He shakes his head, wiping away the tears that have fallen.

“Oh, Buck.” Steve says. He can hear him getting up from his seat and Peach moves when Steve sits next to him on the couch, pulling him into a hug, “I’m so sorry, Buck.”

Bucky leans into the hug, “My left arm is a big fuckup of scars and cuts. Every damn time I see it in the mirror I think about the crash, I think about what I could have done to prevent it.” He’s openly crying now, clutching on to Steve’s shirt, “Why’d they take my family, Steve?” He cries, “Why?”

Steve rocks him gently, a hand carding through his hair, another’s rubbing circles into his back, and Steve shakes his head, “I don’t know, Buck, but I do know that the accident wasn’t your fault. Nothing you could do to prevent it or change it because it wasn’t an action of yours to change.”

Bucky lets himself cry on Steve and lets Steve’s words sink in. He leans into Steve, lets him be his rock for the time being because he knows Steve will let him be. All the time they didn’t talk, all the days of avoidance and hesitation don’t matter, not right now. Steve’s holding him closer than he ever has before, he’s rubbing his back and petting his hair, he’s rocking him gently, and staying silent. He’s letting Bucky grieve in a way he never has before, in a way he’s never let himself because he’s never wanted to put the weight of his problems on someone else. Not until his drunk self made him, at least. 

Eventually he stops crying, but Steve keeps holding him. They’ve shifted on the couch so that Steve has his back against it, and Bucky’s basically in his lap. With a sniff, Bucky pulls away from Steve and looks him in the face.

“I really do miss you, you know. That wasn’t just my drunk self spewing nonsense.” His voice is rough from crying but he and Steve’s faces are close. Noses almost touching, he can smell the coffee from Steve’s breath and he hopes like hell that his smells minty fresh.

“You do?” Steve asks softly, eyes darting between Bucky’s own eyes and lips.

“Yeah.” Bucky breaths before saying a mental _fuck it_ and leaning in.

Steve’s lips are soft when he presses his against them. They’re not chapped but plump and warm, smoother than he imagined. He doesn’t open his mouth to deepen the kiss like he would have done to anyone else, but keeps it close mouthed and simple. Nothing more than lips pressing against lips, warmth to warmth. He brings his hand up to blindly cup Steve’s cheek, the other hand resting on Steve’s chest. The kiss is more than Bucky could have dreamed of, even being this chaste. It’s hopeful and warm and honest, nothing like he’s never had. Nothing like he could have thought he could have. It feels like love, and admitting that, that word, makes Bucky feel giddier than ever before.

And then Steve seems to snap into action and moves his face away, slightly pushing Bucky off his body.

“What?” Bucky asks, confused, because Steve was reciprocating, it wasn’t just a one-sided kiss. It wasn’t Bucky forcing his lips on Steve’s but Steve accepting them.

Steve shakes his head, holding Bucky at an arm's length away, “I can’t, Buck.” He looks pained, there’s a dip in his eyebrows that Bucky’s never seen before and Bucky’s confused.

“You can’t?” Bucky repeats, he feels like crying again. He feels all his insecurities and pains coming back, the mantra of _love is for children_ playing in his head once more.

Steve’s still looking away from him, still holding him away, “I can’t because I’m going through some stuff right now that I can’t explain. Please, Buck.”

“If you’re going through something let me help you, Steve.” Bucky says, pleads.

“I need to go through this on my own.” Steve says, finally turning to look at him before getting up from the couch, letting Bucky go, “But know-” Steve pauses, looking away before looking back at him, “-know that I wanted that kiss just as much as you did. I just can’t date, or do anything without figuring myself out first.” He leans down and presses a kiss to Bucky’s forehead, “Just know that.” And he’s gone.

Bucky stares at the space Steve just was. He can feel the warmth of his lips against his forehead, against his own mouth, he can feel him physically, but he doesn’t know how to feel emotionally. He’s filled with happiness, warmth, and hope because Steve kissed him back, Steve kissed his forehead, Steve _wants_ him. While at the same time he feels empty and upset because Steve left, Steve’s going through something he can’t- won’t- tell Bucky, and all Bucky can do is sit here on the couch confused. He can only wait for Steve to decide whether or not their friendship is going to become a relationship. He’s set most of his cards on the table- except for the Love one, because it’s too soon- and now he has to wait for Steve to place his.

With a sigh Bucky lets himself fall back onto the couch, only just noticing Peach sitting by the coffee table. He pats his stomach until she jumps up on the couch and lays her body on top of his. He runs a hand through her hair and sighs once more because he has to wait for Steve and patience is not something he excels at.

X

**November**

Bucky’s sick, he’s dying, he caught the plague and he won’t be able to graduate because he’s going to be six feet under by May. How did Bucky Barnes die? He died from the plague that came from wearing a too thin shirt with a wet stain on his chest and no jacket to the club where he sweated then went back out to the cold weather. That’s how Bucky Barnes died.

With a groan Bucky pulls the blankets he brought down from his room over his shoulders. He’s currently laying on the couch, throw pillow under his head, watching Grey’s Anatomy on the TV because he couldn’t deal with squinting at his laptop screen, Peach is laying between his legs and couch, head on his knee staring at him being pathetic. 

Bucky sighs when Owen Hunt comes on the screen - the scruffy Army vet deal he has going on is appealing - and he looks over at Peach, “He’s not just attractive because he reminds me of Steve.” He tells her, and she just lets out a low ‘woof’. Even Peach calls out his bullshit. He rolls his eyes and looks back at the screen.

It’s another scene in which Christina and Hunt are in that vent room which Bucky- being the snot filled person he is now- cannot name. Christina’s hair whips when air shoots up from the vent, Owen’s hands are laced through it, and he leans in and kisses her. 

Bucky whimpers and closes his eyes. He wants to be kissed by a hot as hell army vet right about now. He wants to be kissed but they haven’t talked about the kiss that happened almost a week ago. Sure, they’re talking more than before- thank drunk-slash-sad Bucky- but it’s full of blushes on both sides and stuttering words. And not talking about the kiss, or about the wanting, or about how much Bucky fucking loves Steve.

He’s as emotionally constipated as Meredith Grey, he realizes. 

Bucky waits for the kiss scene to end before hitting the spacebar, pausing the show, and pulls the cover over his head. He feels Peach crawl up his body, cuddling up to him, and he wraps his arms around her from under the blanket. Once she settles herself- very warm and soft on top of him- he closes his eyes. His brain is filled with snot, his eyes feel heavy despite the fact that they’re closed, and he’s been watching Grey’s Anatomy for a couple hours now. It’s Friday, he thankfully doesn’t have class, and he thinks he’s earned a nap.

So he takes one.

X

Bucky wakes up to the feeling of a warm hand on his forehead. He leans into the hand for a moment before opening his eyes and getting a face full of Steve, “Are you the angel God sent to collect my soul?” Bucky asks, slightly joking, slightly flirting.

Steve doesn’t say anything for a moment, just frowns and moves his hand down to Bucky’s cheek.

Butterflies erupt in Bucky’s stomach, he leans in to Steve’s hand, ignoring the fact that they haven’t talked about feelings or emotions or any of that messy stuff, “You okay?”

“You have a fever.” Steve says, frown still on his face, “Why didn’t you call me?”

Bucky keeps leaning into Steve’s hand, “Didn’t know, ‘sides, I wasn’t gonna’ call you and force you home during class.” Bucky pauses, remembering that it’s Friday and that Steve’s _never_ home on a Friday, “Shouldn’t you be out with your friends or something, right now?”

“You didn’t know you had a fever?” Steve asks, incredulous. 

“I was sleeping, and you haven’t answered the question.” He must look hilarious right now, pouting, covered in blankets with Peach on his chest, but Steve’s frown doesn’t break.

“We need to get your fever down.” Steve moves to leave but Bucky grabs his hand.

“Answer the question and then we can deal with me.”

Steve pauses, a blush is rising on his cheeks, “I had a feeling something wasn’t right so I came home.”

“Oh.” Bucky doesn’t know what to say, he’s surprised. He thought something along the lines of ‘my friends canceled’ or ‘nobody wanted the meet up because of midterms’ not that he had a feeling something was wrong at home and immediately left his friends.

“Yeah,” Steve says, sheepish, “now let’s get you up.”

“Down, Peach.” Bucky mutters, patting her butt until she jumps off. He’s kind of worried about how he’s going to feel getting up because he’s been laying down all day, but he lets Steve pull him up from the couch, and immediately regrets it. 

His head feels heavy, and his entire body aches. He feels like he’s swimming, from the heaviness and congestion in his head, he feels like he wants to lay back down, but the hand Steve has on his shoulder stops him. 

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

Bucky shrugs, “Didn’t eat this morning, wasn’t hungry.”

“So, you haven’t eaten at all today, then?”

“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’, and closes his eyes, “Don’t feel so well, Stevie.” The nickname slips out of his mouth, but he blames it on his sickness, not the fact that he has a dictionary of nicknames he’d like to call Steve.

“I know, Buck.” Steve says softly, he’s gently pushing him back so he’s sitting up on the couch, “But we need to get some food in you before medicine so you don’t feel worse, okay?”

The soft tone of his voice and the way his hands are still on his body, gentle like always, makes Bucky feel warm inside in ways that aren’t from the fever, “Okay.”

“I’m gonna go make you something to eat.” Steve tells him, like if he didn’t dictate his next moves Bucky would freak out- which, now that Bucky thinks of it, it is a possibility.

Bucky nods his head slowly, wincing at the pain the follows, and frowning when he no longer feels the warmth from Steve’s hands on his shoulders. He can hear Steve move to the kitchen, opening the fridge and cupboards, turning on the stove, scraping a pot or pan, and decides that he can take another nap right now.

Eyes still closed, he pats his lap a few times, unsure if Peach is actually still in the room with him, and smiles when she jumps up into his lap and settles. Protecting him and keeping him warm in his fever-chilled state. He places a hand in her fur and settles himself back into the couch to take his nap.

X

“Buck, hey, Buck.”

Bucky opens his eyes slowly, making a groaning sound as he lifts his head from the back of the couch to look at Steve. 

Steve’s standing over him, breakfast tray in hand (Bucky doesn’t know where it came from), giving him a small smile, “Made you some soup and found some medicine that should help.”

“Made?” Bucky asks, his voice is rough and there’s a closed tight feeling in the back that wasn’t there before, and all he wants to do is go back to sleep.

Steve blushes, nudging Peach until she jumps off the couch and onto the armchair that neither of them use, and sits down in her place. They’re shoulder to shoulder and Bucky would blush but his face is already flushed from the fever. 

Steve sets the tray down on the coffee table, only taking the bowl of soup and spoon with him, “Yeah, I had everything there and it’s just chicken noodle.” He shrugs, looking down at the steaming bowl, “It’s nothing much.”

Clumsily, Bucky places his hand on Steve’s arm, he turns his head to look at Steve and gives him the best smile he can muster, ”I haven’t had homemade soup since my ma’ passed, so it’s a lot, Steve. Thank you.”

“Oh.” Steve blushes again before clearing his throat, “Do you need help eating?”

X

After Bucky finishes half the bowl- with Steve’s help- and downs some nasty medicine he leans back against the couch and pets his lap until Peach jumps on. Steve moves to get up, probably wash the dishes and go to his own sofa, when Bucky weakly holds on to his wrist, “Stay?” He feels like shit and wants someone to be next to him. He wants to literally lean on someone.

“Yeah.” Steve only moves to put Bucky’s glass back on the tray and to get under the blanket Bucky brought from his room. He shifts both of them so Bucky’s cuddled against his chest and his arms are around Bucky’s shoulders.

Bucky sighs with how good it feels. Steve’s chest is warm and oddly soft despite the muscle. His arms are like a safe cage around Bucky, holding him close as the medicine does it’s thing, making Bucky drowsey. Peach moved so she’s back against the couch and his bent legs, her head on his knee once more.

“Steve.” Bucky says, he shifts slightly so he has a hand under his head and a hand on the side of Steve’s chest.

Steve hums in question, not breaking the silence.

Bucky swallows. He’s about to take a leap off a cliff, he’s about to do something that he won’t blame on his snotty brain or the medicine he took, “I know you don’t want to talk about it,” he starts, ”and I get it, but-” he closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly before whispering: “- but I think I love you.” He told himself he wasn’t going to tell Steve that, not now, not this soon. But here Steve is cuddling him, spoon feeding him, giving him medicine, risking catching whatever Bucky has for Bucky’s own comfort. How could Bucky _not_?

“Buck--”

“You don’t need to do anything with that information.” Bucky says, cutting Steve off, “I just wanted you to know, and I also want you to know that I’m here whenever you’re ready.” He’ll wait for Steve to finish going through whatever is he has to deal with. Whether that be a couple days, months, or even years. He’s willing to wait. _Love is for children_ doesn’t mean the same thing to him as it used to. Love isn’t for children, love is complex and rough and confusing. Lust, lust is for children. Lust is nothing more than a physical attraction and want, it’s sweaty bodies and no emotions. Falling in love isn’t going soft like he used to think, it’s growing armour, it’s making one’s self available for another person. It’s growing.

“Okay.” Steve says, “Okay.” 

Bucky nods, still tucked against Steve’s chest. He knew this would be the response, and he’s fine with it. He is. Steve might not respond with words but he does pull Bucky in closer, holds him tighter, unmistakably presses his lips to the crown of Bucky’s head. It warms Bucky’s chest, it gives him hope. It’s not an answer but at the same time it is.

Steve shifts them so that they’re laying back on the couch. He momentarily moves an arm away from Bucky- which Bucky immediately misses- to put a pillow under his head but places it back on Bucky. 

Bucky keeps his eyes closed but moves his hands, one of them under his cheek, the other on Steve’s shoulder and lets out a deep sigh. It’s not the type of sigh that comes before or after something painful, but one that feels full of relief. The weight of not telling Steve has been lifted off his shoulders. The confession is out in the air and he may be sick but he doesn’t think he’s felt better emotionally. 

Bucky lets himself relax into Steve’s warmth, and once again, sleeps.

X

His hands are shaking as he mashes the potatoes, making the masher shake, making the whole process of making fluffy mashed potatoes even harder. Bucky clenches his jaw and grits his teeth, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of freaking out because Sam’s coming over. Sam who is Steve’s best friend, Sam who Bucky’s never met, Sam who has made it an effort to spend Thanksgiving with Steve, Sam who Bucky needs to impress.

Bucky shakes his head and finishes mashing the potatoes before going to check on his pie. While Steve went out to get Sam from the train station Bucky decided to make an apple pie. It didn’t take long, or much of any work to do, but it looks and smells like Bucky took hours on it. He’s always been unnaturally good at cooking, from days watching his mom cook, he supposes. Bucky slips on an oven mitt and takes the pie out of the oven, closing the door as he goes. He eyes the pie, nodding to himself when he sees that no filling came out and there’s not any large cracks in the crust.

Usually, he’d be making the pie and fixings for Clint and Natasha but once he heard that Sam was coming over he decided he needed to stay here and use food to win Sam’s approval of him. He knows that Sam’s well aware of the situation between he and Steve, he has to be, being Steve’s best friend and all. He probably knows about that drunk night, about the day after, about the love confession, and about the days after that leading up to now that has him and Steve sitting closer, has them sharing more touches, has them being way more domestic than before. 

Sam’s coming into this house completely knowledged about the situation at hand, whereas Bucky only knows the barebones of Sam: Air Force veteran, running a VA, is Steve’s best friend. If Bucky were to take a quiz about Sam right now with his diploma on the line, he’d fail it so hard they’d send him back to freshman year.

Bucky’s shaken of his thoughts when he hears the front door open, two voices- one Steve, one Sam- flowing through the hallway and into the kitchen. Bucky looks down at Peach who’s still in the kitchen, like she knows he needs mental support right now, and then behind his shoulder. Should he leave the kitchen and go greet them? Should he stay in here and wait for them? He looks back down at Peach, she just twitches her ear at him.

Bucky decides not to be rude and goes to meet Sam. He wipes his hands on the black apron he stole from work and hopes like hell there’s no flour on his face or in his hair. He takes a deep breath to steady himself and walks into the foyer where Sam and Steve are still talking. He hesitates at the end of the hall before he catches Steve’s eye.

“Buck!” He makes a waving come-over-here motion, “Come meet Sam?”

Bucky makes his way down the hall, and extends his hand to Sam, “Bucky Barnes.”

Sam grin and takes his hand before pulling him into a one-armed hug, “Sam Wilson.” He lets Bucky go and looks him over, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All good, I hope.” Bucky puts the best smile he can muster on his face before nodding back to the kitchen, “I need to check on the turkey, but it was nice meeting you.”

“I’ll help.” Steve starts before stopping at the shake of Bucky’s head.

“No, you catch up with Sam, I’ll keep an eye on dinner.” He gives Sam a short wave before turning around and heading back to the kitchen where Peach is still sitting by the oven.

“I think I made a good impression, girl.” He whispers, scratching between her ears, “At least I hope.”

X

Neither Sam or Steve bother him in the kitchen until he calls them into the kitchen because everything's finally cooked. The turkey is golden, the potatoes are fluffy and mashed, the asparagus and everything else is perfect. Bucky’s grinning at his food when the two of them come in.

“Wow.” Steve says, taking in the lay out of food on the counters.

Sam rubs his hands together, “Yeah, man, this looks great!”

Bucky blushes, “Well,” he looks around at all the food he cooked, already planning what to do with the leftovers, “dig in.”

Steve’s the one to carve the turkey, taking requests as to which piece they want. They all serve their own sides, and because it’s a special occasion they bring Peach’s bowls with them to the living room, giving her a piece of breast.

Bucky sits on his corner of the couch, Sam takes the armchair nobody but Peach sits in, and Steve sits in his chair. Each of them scoot to the edge so they can use the coffee table, and Sam puts the game on. 

“So you’re graduating next year?” Sam asks, breaking the football and eating filled silence.

Bucky nods, swallowing his food, “Yeah, in May.”

He grins, “You excited?”

“To be free of school? Hell yes. To have to figure out what to do with my life besides school? No.” He doesn’t know what he wants to do with his degree in history. He could do the boring thing and become a professor or he could write a book. He could go to grad school or take some time off. He’s just not sure.

“Well,” Sam shrugs, “you gotta’ leave the education nest someday.”

“That I do.” Bucky nods.

“Unlike me who just reentered it.” Steve says with a sigh, putting his empty plate on the coffee table and leaning back in his chair with a pat on his stomach. Peach comes up to sniff the empty plate but Steve nudges her away with his foot.

“College goes by fast, just make sure to keep your GPA up in freshman year ‘cause then you’re set for the rest of your college life.” Bucky knows this from experience. Freshman year he had a bomb as fuck GPA, almost a 4.0. Sophomore year he kept it up because being on the Dean’s list felt nice. Junior year he screwed around- literally and figuratively- almost failed half of his classes and it didn’t drop by much. (Though, in all honestly, he’s glad for that slap of reality because without it he wouldn’t have met Steve.)

“I think I’ve heard that from all of my professors.” Steve pouts, “Doesn’t help the fact that finals are coming up and I don’t know if I’m going to pass some of them.”

Sam snorts, “Everyone in this room knows how much you study, you’ll be fine, man.”

The light conversation keeps up, with football as their background noise. Eventually the game ends, news comes on, and Steve heaves himself up from his chair. 

“Does anyone want pie?” Steve ducks his head, “I’ve been craving it since I saw it earlier.”

“I’ll cut it.” Bucky says, moving to get up before Steve stops him.

“No, no, you cooked it, I’ll cut us all a piece.”

Bucky sits back down, watching both Steve and Peach leave the room. 

Sam turns to him, “I wasn’t sure about you, at first.”

Bucky’s stomach drops.

“But now that I’ve met you, and seen you with Steve, I think you’re a pretty alright guy.”

Bucky lets out a breath, “Jesus,” he cards his hair back, “I’ve been stressing about impressing you all day, honestly.”

“Really?” Sam asks, chuckling, “Nah, man, don’t worry about impressing me. I’m just looking out for Steve, sometimes his emotions cloud his judgement, but I don’t think they did this time.”

Bucky leans back into the couch and looks at the ceiling, “I wouldn’t hurt him, or use him. Maybe if he met me a year ago, but now?” Bucky shakes his head.

“What changed that?” Sam asks, quietly.

“Well, two things. One being I realized I want more from Steve than a quick fuck. Two being that he asked me to wait and I realized I’d wait for him as long as he needs me to.”

“And what if the sex part never happened, would you still want him?”

Bucky doesn’t even have to think about it, not anymore at least, “Of course. Sex-” he shrugs, “-sex isn’t anything more than being physical. I don’t need that to know I’m in a relationship for the long haul.”

Sam doesn’t say anything after but Bucky thinks that’s the response he wanted to hear. Not like Bucky would change his response for Sam, because he wouldn’t, but he feels like he got something right. And that feels good.

When Steve comes back with the pie Bucky takes it and smiles. He’s happy, for the first time since the crash his Thanksgiving is actually fulfilling. Yeah, he did a little thing with Natasha and Clint but they weren’t really into it. They’d rather order in than fuss over a big turkey dinner like Bucky would. Now, though with Sam- who he barely knows-, Steve, and Peach, he finally feels good.

He finally feels like he has something to be thankful for.

X

**December**

The tree looks better than any tree Bucky can remember. Even the ones he set up with his family. It’s seven feet, full of ornaments, twinkling lights, garland, and there’s an angel on top that’s apparently been around since Steve was a kid. Underneath the tree’s filled with various sizes of presents, some for himself, some for Steve, and even some for Peach.

“What do you want for Christmas, Buck?” Steve asks, he’s on the floor between his chair and the coffee table trying to put a shirt that looks like a typical elf costume on Peach.

Bucky looks away from the tree, “Steve, tomorrow’s Christmas, shoulda’ asked me sooner.”

Steve scratches Peach between the ears once the shirt goes on, she looks funny but Bucky’s going to hold in his snort for Peach’s sake, “Well, I’m asking you now.” He turns around and looks at Bucky, “What do you want for Christmas?”

“You.” Bucky says, simple and clean and stupidly cheesy at the same time.

Steve’s hands pause in Peach’s hair. He licks his lips before sighing and moving to sit on the couch, “I guess we should talk.”

“It has been almost three months.” Bucky says, not unkindly, just being honest. He’s ready for whatever Steve lays on him, he’s been ready since October.

Steve angles himself towards Bucky on the couch and takes his hands, he keeps his eyes on their entwined hands, “Remember all those Friday’s I canceled?”

“Yeah.” Because he does. He remembers being hurt, angry, and getting shitfaced because of it.

“I wasn’t canceling to just hang out with new people, I was going to LGBTQIA meetings.”

“Oh?” Bucky’s confused, he’s not sure where this is going since he’s a guy and Steve’s a guy so going to those types of meetings isn’t anything new. He’s been to a few, but quickly stopped going when he realized he didn’t like being that open with so many people. 

“Yeah.” Steve licks his lips. 

He’s nervous, Bucky realizes.

Steve looks up at him and squares his shoulders like he’s ready for a fight, “In those meetings I realized I was asexual, and I know that isn’t approved by some people, which is why..” He trails off.

“Which is why you didn’t want to get into a relationship right off the bat.” Bucky says, finally realizing why Steve didn’t want to talk to him about what he was going through. Finally realizing why Sam asked about the sex thing. It all makes sense.

“Exactly.”

Bucky holds on to Steve’s hands tighter and brings them to his chest, “Look, Steve, I don’t need sex to be in a happy relationship, not any more. As long as I’m with you I’m fine. So, if sex is off the table, it’s off the table, you just gotta’ let me know what you’re comfortable with, okay?”

“It’s that easy?”

Bucky nods, “It’s that easy.”

Steve pulls him and hugs him close, tucking Bucky’s head under his chin, “Thank you, Buck.”

“For what?” He asks, wrapping his arms around Steve.

“For being understanding, I’ve heard horror stories ‘s all.”

“Well,” Bucky hugs Steve a bit tighter, “thank you for giving me the best Christmas gift on earth.”

Steve presses a kiss to the crown of Bucky’s head, “No problem.”

It’s Christmas Eve, the tree is beautiful, it’s snowing outside, Peach has on a ridiculous shirt, and Bucky couldn’t ask for anything more.

- _Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this fic here's a reblogable picspam post: [X](http://pesmenos.tumblr.com/post/144111915340/lost-in-love-by-earthseraph-pesmenos-for)


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